Beautiful Stranger
by ai oi
Summary: ~COMPLETE~ SLASH. (A/L) Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me. Of how they met, and how they came to love.
1. Chapter 1

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: Set before the War of the Ring. Hopefully it has got more of a plot than its predecessors do…

To GoldenRose: Why do I write sad endings? I guess it's because I believe in canon as far as possible, and besides, there's just something about hopeless love…

Did I mention it's slash? 

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 1

At night, they chained him to the walls.

Ordinary metal could never have held him, but steel forged from the blood and pain of Mordor bound him as surely as the Dark One himself. And though the cursed lengths left his pale skin unmarked, they wrapped his mind in agony.

Legolas bit back the scream that threatened to spill from his lips; they might hold his body prisoner, but he swore that they would never break his soul. Then the guards unlocked the doors and threw the broken, battered body into his arms, and he could not suppress the cry of agony that escaped him.

"Gwain," he whispered urgently, supporting as much of the man's prone weight as the chains would allow.

Gwain reached for his face with a hand coated in sticky blood. As he gently stroked the elf's cheek, his fingers left a spill of red against the white. "Legolas," he managed to choke out, than broke into a fit of coughing that left him breathless.

"Shh, try to rest," the elf said hurriedly, tears spilling unabashedly down his cheeks, "you'll be fine."

Gwain shook his head and tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain. "I won't, and you know it. Please don't cry. I just…" he broke off again, gasping for air that would not reach his lungs, "…just want you to know…that I love you." He convulsed one final time before his heart stopped beating, dying in the arms of the elf he had known and loved so briefly.

The wail that rose broke the peace of the night. Though no sound should have escaped the walls of stone built a metre thick, the Lord of the Keep started awake from nightmares, an inexplicable dread curling through his veins at the terrible howl of loss.

On that night, Legolas decided that all of them would die.

~

Gwain was perhaps twenty when the Prince of Mirkwood quite literally stumbled on him. 

Legolas had been tracking an unusual set of prints down a small hill, and was so absorbed in his quarry that he never noticed the young man fishing intently by the adjacent stream. Until, that is, he tripped over him.

They tumbled headlong into the water in a decidedly undignified manner, fletcher and fishing rod flying in all directions as they fought for balance. Eventually, dripping and breathless with laughter, they dragged themselves back onto the bank.

Legolas regained his footing first, and extended a friendly hand to haul the unfortunate soul to his feet. As the man rose, tossing water from soaked linen, the elf's breath caught at the glint of sunlight on water threaded through midnight locks, like crystals set in velvet. His warm brown eyes glowed with merriment, and when he threw his head back to laugh, Legolas was lost in the richness of the sound.

"My name is Gwain," the lithe young man said, smiling broadly.

"I am Legolas," he replied.

Gwain hesitated for a moment, then asked, entreating, "Your garments are soaked through... you cannot travel in that state, will you not accept our hospitality?"

Legolas nodded, still somewhat bemused, and followed Gwain into the nearby clearing, where a clan of the _amrod gwaith_ had set up camp. A race both dark and proud, the wandering people traced their roots from Númenor and claimed kinship with the Rangers.

Heads turned as the elf strode past gaudily bedecked caravans, and many called out cries of welcome. Legolas smiled and nodded and waved as children danced about him and adults bowed to their ancient ally. Quickly embarrassed by the attention though, he hurried forward to close the distance between himself and Gwain.

The man nodded reassuringly, then disappeared into a modest turquoise caravan set up at a corner of the field. Legolas pushed back the hanging beads and followed him in, stunned for a moment by the cool and dark after the noise and light outside.

"Here," Gwain said, handing him the well-mended white shirt and breeches, "It's not much, but there's little else that'll fit."

Legolas glanced at the clothing in his hands, then back to the thinner, shorter man. "Whom do these belong to?" he asked, unthinking.

Gwain's face darkened for a moment, but he shrugged it off and strove for nonchalance as he replied, "They were my father's."

The elf blushed in embarrassment, and hastily apologized. 

"No matter," he assured him, "It happened last winter, six months ago. We had traveled too close to the cursed lands of Mordor, and raiders fell upon us. My parents fought to their deaths in our defense." He turned to Legolas with eyes too bright, "They died with honour."

His pain was still so raw, so real, that Legolas hurt for him too. In another time and place, he would have gathered the man in his arms and held him until the sorrow had melted from his soul. But the ways of the Elves were not those of Men, and so the only comfort he could offer was silence.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he recalled the garments he still held. Stripping off his wet clothing, he exchanged them for dry ones. Then, unsure of what to do, he turned to leave, but paused halfway out the door, and hesitantly asked, "May I return these tomorrow?"

Gwain nodded, embarrassed by his brief outburst, "We should still be here then. If not, we will be travelling south, to Rohan."

~

Legolas returned the next day, and the day after that. 

There was always something that drew him to accompany the _amrod gwaith_ a little further on their journey; a change of clothes, an offer of trade, and finally, the honest lure of friendship.

As summer melted to autumn, the elf became a common sight around the camp. The bond between Gwain and himself deepened as well, and soon it was as if there had never been one without the other. But if what he felt for the man went beyond the bounds of friendship, the elf kept it to himself.

The raiders came in winter, almost exactly a year to the day that Gwain' parents had died. From the first, it was clear the clan was lost; the able-bodied men were too few, the women and children too frightened and many. 

Gwain shrugged into hardened leather hunting gear, the closest thing to armor that he owned. Legolas watched him with shadowed eyes, and when he turned to go, the elf picked up his bow and stood at his back.

"Leave," Gwain said, not turning around, "This is not your battle."

Stoic silence met his words.

"Leave," Gwain repeated more forcefully, anger colouring his tone.

"No." 

The man stalked away furiously, but could not outpace the elf that followed doggedly at his heels. Finally, at the edge of the battlefield, with the thunder of horses' hooves ringing in their ears, Gwain stopped, and pushed the elf from him harshly.

"What must I say to make you understand?" he asked Legolas despairingly, "This clan is mine, these people are mine - this fight is mine alone."

Legolas looked at him steadily, and wondered that the man had never guessed. "You will never be alone while I am here," he answered quietly, letting the veil fall from his face and the walls crumble around his heart.

In the midst of the confusion and wonder that shone through Gwain's eyes, a trace of the longing he had felt for so long was mirrored in the man before him. Pulse thudding in his throat, Legolas took a step forward, but then the first of the horsemen raced to meet them, and what might have been was lost in the fighting that followed.

Legolas took up his bow and daggers and plunged into the melee. Through the screams of the wounded and the mist of red that rose, his eyes tracked the position of one person and his steel carved a bloody swath to keep the life one man.

It was over too soon. The not-quite-dead were left groaning where they lay, and what survivors there were bound in chains and led away. Reeling from sheer exhaustion, Legolas had only the strength to feel relief that Gwain was not among the pile of bodies burning in a communal pyre when the raider came to bind him.

After trudging for half a day through soil churned to mud, the chain of prisoners was brought to a large fortress, which Legolas deduced half-consciously was somewhere in Wold. Yet, the splash of red and yellow that painted each assailant's armor betrayed their master from Mordor. The pieces of the puzzle did not fit, and curiosity flared for a moment through the dullness that clouded his mind.

A whip on his back shocked him fully awake. He turned to defend himself, realising too late that it had been the worst thing he could have done. Thus far, general confusion had forestalled his captors' realization that they held one of the fair folk, but now, staring in horror at elvish eyes filled with rage, the guard struck him heavily on the back of his head. As darkness rose to claim him, green eyes caught and held brown ones filled with despair.

~

Hours later, when he awoke in the cell, Legolas found the cursed steel around his wrists, and his life no longer his. 

* * *

© ai 2003

I promise it's A/L. Wait and see. : )

Sigh…It's the first day of the strike against Iraq…hope there'll be peace soon…


	2. Chapter 2

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: hmm, this is turning into quite a departure from my regular fluff. Hope it's in a good way though…

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 2

It must have been dawn when they took him away, but no light reached the depths of the slave holds, so Legolas could only guess. The guards piled the bodies onto the wagon - women and children and men that had died during the night or the day before. 

He should have felt something when they tossed Gwain's corpse unceremoniously with the rest, but a distant fury had filled his mind and permeated his very being, so that the eyes which surveyed the wretched scene glowed with a cold beyond ice. 

A child knelt weeping over a still figure in a corner, a young dark-haired boy who could not have been more than eight. One of the guards moved to drag the male corpse from his side, and the boy clutched it fiercely to him, baring small white teeth at the stranger. 

The guard's contemptuous laugh turned into a curse of pain as the boy bit down hard on the offending hands. "You little…" he snarled, stretching his arm backwards to deliver a blow. Legolas stepped smoothly forward to intercept it; the chains that bound him to the wall had been released minutes earlier.

Turning his attention to the impudent slave, the guard made ready to deliver a scathing tongue-lashing, but at that frozen glare, the words died unsaid. Stammering badly, he managed to force out a phrase or two of reprimand before ripping the body from the boy's grasp and hurrying back to his compatriots as fast as was seemly.

The child cried out and reached for his dead father, but Legolas held him back. "Let him go," he whispered, as much to himself as to the boy, "he is where pain cannot touch him." He glanced a little more carefully at the young one in his arms. Mattius. A cousin of Gwain's, and one of the twenty-odd that remained from a clan of over a hundred just a month before.

He had just managed to still the boy's tears and send him to his duties, when a liveried servant of some rank moved purposely towards him, a kerchief to his nose as though he feared slavery contagious. Legolas straightened and watched him come, wondering which foolish noble or 'honored guest' it was now that wished to see elf magic performed.

The servant paused two paces away and gestured condescendingly at the elf. "You," he said haughtily, "your presence is required before the master." He did not wait to see if the elf would follow before sauntering back up the staircase from which he had come, oblivious to the hate-filled eyes drilling holes in his back.

~

"My lord Thorongil," the retainer waited politely for the man to respond, "My lord, we have arrived."

Aragorn snapped quickly out of his reverie; lulled by the sound of horse's hooves, he had come close to falling asleep. _Idiot, _he told himself sternly, _as if you haven't learned better than that after all this time._

The imposing gates to the fort of the Duke of Wold stood before him, immense oak timbers which rose to ten times the height of a man. At his retainer's knock, a tiny slit appeared in the wooden doors and a voice requested their names and business.

"The lord Thorongil, advisor to King Thengel of Rohan, and his entourage," his man replied proudly, handing the edict to the sentry, "In the King's name, the Duke must receive us." After a brief consultation, a shout to the tower above precluded the whine and drum of opening gates. 

Aragorn slid off his mount and took it by the bridle to lead it through. For a deserted holding on the outskirts of Rohan, the compounds of the Duke's fort bustled with activity. A tiny child ran right into him, but backed away quickly, his huge brown eyes wide with fear. When Aragorn reached down to reassure him, the boy danced out of reach, all but groveling as he scurried away.

"Wait!" Aragorn chased after the fleeing child, who ducked through the legs of smiths and tanners and assorted workers who toiled in the courtyard. Dashing desperately about, the boy finally crashed into a golden-haired figure that had just stepped out of a door, and wrapped his arms tightly about its legs. 

Aragorn stopped a distance away, not wanting to scare the boy further. He watched the figure bend down to stroke the child's hair, murmuring words of comfort. As it straightened, the man started in disbelief as silken hair was pushed back to reveal ears topped with delicate pointed tips. 

Aragorn's sense of unreality deepened when a cuff from the servant walking just ahead of him sent the elf reeling. He took an involuntary step towards the three of them, but the sudden appearance of a breathless squire cut him short. "My lord," he said, panting heavily, "if you will follow me to the anteroom …the Duke will see you shortly…" 

"But…" Aragorn protested as he was carefully herded away. He fell silent when he realised that he was not going to get an answer, but thought instead of his purpose in this place, and the questions he had to ask.

__

"There's a conspiracy about, Thorongil," the King muttered irritably, "And half the nobles are in on it."

Aragorn bowed slightly, and awaited further instructions.

"I need to know what it is," Thengel continued, pointing a bony figure at the man before him, "And you are going to find out for me," 

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, known to the Rohirrim as the Royal Advisor Thorongil, watched as the irate King walked behind the study table, and smoothly caught the map that the King tossed to him.

"Start there," Thengel said, indicating the holdings marked in red, "They have the most to gain from a rebellion." 

And so Aragorn had journeyed through nine holdings located throughout Rohan, including the present one, in little more than two months. Thus far, there had been no signs of a plot against the throne, but for all that King Thengel was pushing sixty, his mind was as sharp as ever, and the presence of concurring evidence gave Aragorn no reason to doubt him.

Now, in the fort of a Duke who had no love for his King, surrounded by nervous servants who had too much to hide, and barely a body length away from a captive elf, the whispers of treachery began to take on a solid shape.

~

Legolas spared a glance at the strange dark haired man who was the source of Mattius' fear, then a familiar pain across his face brought the elf's attention back to his own situation. He glared at the Duke's steward, but the man had turned away, and did not notice.

After some persuasion, Mattius released his death grip on the elf's legs, but refused to leave his side. Left without a choice, Legolas took one small hand in his, and together they made their way before Harad. 

The Duke of Wold had been pacing anxiously across the carpet before their arrival; the elf read his impatience in the freshly bent lines of thread. Upon their entrance, the stocky man looked up, and smiled ubiquitously.

"Over here, make yourself comfortable" Harad said, waving for Legolas to take a seat, "Friends should not be so formal in each other's presence."

The elf's face hardened, and he cut the man off, saying harshly, "Get to the point. What do you want?"

Harad's smile disappeared, and his expression grew cold. "Very well," he said, "If that's the way you're going to be…I have a proposition."

Legolas waited, disdain showing in every line of his posture.

"I have…a problem," he continued, pacing towards the elf, "You see, the King has sent a man to my keep, one who is apt to meddle in business not his, and some of my business is…sensitive."

The elf barked a laugh. "You mean the King has realised you're a treacherous bastard and sent his spy to get proof," he said.

The backhand that caught him across the head was almost absent-minded. Legolas stumbled, and spat out blood.

Harad waited for him to right himself, then said, "Put it that way if you wish. The point is, I want him removed. Discreetly of course, and in such a way that it cannot be linked back to me." He watched the elf dispassionately. "Make it happen, and I will let all of you go."

"All of who?" Legolas asked suspiciously.

Harad gestured expansively to the toiling slaves both within the room and outside. "Them," he said, "Your…friends."

Legolas remained silent. Was it possible? After all these months, could the _amrod gwaith_ finally regain their freedom? But at what cost… _If only you could have waited Gwain, _he thought bitterly, _if you could have hung on for just a few more days…_

The Duke scratched at his balding pate while the elf struggled with his inner demons. "To prove my good will," he said, "Should you agree to my terms, I will release them beforehand."

The elf stared in disbelief. 

"Tashid," Harad called to his steward, "Let them go."

"Your Grace…" the steward protested.

"Let them go now."

The steward bowed and shot the elf a look of pure hatred before backing out of the room. Harad cocked a questioning eyebrow at Legolas.

Long buried hope rose to the surface in the elf's mind. If Gwain's people were free, it did not matter what happened to him. Once he need worry no longer about possible repercussions, he could find a way to resolve all things honorably.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he nodded. "I'll do it," he said.

"Good, good," Harad said happily, rubbing his hands in glee, "Of course, you don't mind if I arrange a little…guarantee?" A guard came running at the snap of his fingers. "Take the child," he said, pointing at Mattius, "Keep him somewhere safe."

"You!" Legolas reached helplessly for the boy, who struggled and wailed in the guard's arms, "You promised!"

"And I will let him go too," Harad said, "As long as you fulfill your end of the bargain. You have two days. The man will be placed in the corner guest room on the second floor of the left wing." He dismissed the elf with a wave of his hand, "Now if you will excuse me, I have a diplomat to lie to."

Legolas watched in hapless fury as Harad and Mattius exited the room. _By Valar,_ he swore at the Duke's departing back, _this is not over yet._

* * *

© ai 2003

__

Sigh, war and SARS…what is the world coming to? If this took your mind off decadent reality for just five minutes, it's served its purpose. :)


	3. Chapter 3

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: just struck me…why do artistes of every sort seem to get more famous when they die? Kind of defeats the purpose of living…

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 3

He woke abruptly, aware of a silent presence. 

Without altering the rhythm of his breaths, he peered cautiously through a slit in his eyelids, then stared in mute disbelief at the figure sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed.

The elf was shrouded in shadow, but even the moonless night could not mute the gold of his hair, nor the gleam of the dagger by his side.

For a time, Aragorn merely lay still, unsure of what to do, but knowing that to break this fragile peace would sunder the surreal beauty of the scene before him.

"I know you're awake," the elf said quietly, "No, don't speak, just leave this place. Tomorrow…or better, go now, before it's too late."

"Why…"Aragorn began.

The elf shook his head, signaling the man to silence. "He'll kill you," he said simply, "If I don't do it, he'll find someone else to, but he'll never let you leave his fort alive."

Swinging his legs gracefully to the floor, the elf took up the dagger and made to leave.

"_Dartha_!" he called to the departing elf.

The elf paused and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Sindarin," he said, "Who are you Man, that you speak our tongue?"

Aragorn hesitated. There were too many answers to that question; for the first twenty years of his life, he had been Estel, while for the last five, the Rohirrim called him Thorongil. And yet, whatever name he took, he had always been…"Aragorn," he replied simply, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." _And heir to Isildur, who betrayed all of Middle-earth. _"I grew up in Rivendell."

The elf nodded, mulling over this new information. "_Suilannad_," he said gravely, "Would that we had met under different circumstances." Turning, he continued his walk towards the door.

"May I know your name?" Aragorn called as loudly as dared to the departing figure.

The elf stopped, but remained quiet for so long that Aragorn thought he would not answer. "_Pen_," he finally replied, before disappearing from sight.

"Stranger," Aragorn murmured to himself. Staring into space, he smiled and wondered aloud, "Who are you _bein pen_? Who is this beautiful stranger?"

~

As the door swung slowly shut behind him, Legolas sank to his knees, and wept. 

He had steeled himself to kill the man, but even in the unrelenting darkness, his elven gaze had picked out the fall of dark thick hair framing brown eyes set in a narrow face. Though that was where the man's resemblance to Gwain ended, the brief similarity had struck him deep, and the dagger had fallen harmlessly from his hand.

Cursing his own foolishness, he wiped the tears angrily from his cheeks. There was no time to waste on useless sentiments, he had to find Mattius and get him out before Harad discovered his duplicity.

Legolas rose to his feet and ran lightly down the corridor, glancing at the stars through the windows. There were only so many places Harad could put the child, and with luck, all of them would be miles away by dawn. 

~

A candlemark later, he was just about ready to admit defeat. The boy wasn't in the dungeons, where they'd both resided until the day before. Neither was he in the servants' quarters, or curled in front of the kitchen fireplace with the rest of the children who served the cook. 

He'd scoured the stables from end to end, and had cautiously scanned through the barracks in the courtyard. The only place left to search was Harad's personal rooms - they occupied the entire third story of the main building, encompassing both the Duke's sleeping area and his private study.

As Legolas pushed the heavy study door open, a rusted hinge squealed in protest, and he winced at the discordant sound. Squeezing through the narrow opening, he edged his way in sideways rather than risk further noise.

The feel of cold metal to his throat made him stop short, caught halfway into the room. Fear gripped him for a moment, then a familiar voice said, "Elf?"

The knife fell away, and a strong hand tugged Legolas all the way into Harad's study. He stumbled free of the door, and fell against the man's broad chest.

Pushing him aside angrily, Legolas straightened and said in a harsh whisper to cover his embarrassment, "I thought I told you to leave."

Aragorn smiled thinly, and gestured towards the desk with its myriad contents. "I came here for a purpose," he said, "and what you've told me has only confirmed my suspicions." He walked back to the oblong bulk, and continued running his fingers over the smooth wood, searching for the trigger to the secret compartment he knew had to be present. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

The elf studied the sturdy desk, recognizing Edhellond handiwork. Pushing the man aside, he pulled out the first drawer and felt for the concealed lever at the back. A slim panel of wood slid aside, revealing a stack of letters and documents.

Legolas pulled out the sheaf of papers, and handed them to the surprised man. "Here," he said, "now will you go?"

Aragorn scanned through the correspondents as best he could in the dim light. The little he was able to make out was already sufficient to charge Duke Harad of Wold with high treason. Now that proof had been found, he should return to Edoras immediately, but… he turned to the elf. 

"My thanks," he said, "but you still haven't told me your purpose in being here."

Legolas debated his options, then shrugged and was about to answer when the door burst open, and the sudden glare of torches blinded him for an instant. Harad shoved Mattius before him by the scruff of his shirt, laughing arrogantly as the dozen guards surrounded the chance conspirators. 

"What a profitable night!" he crowed happily, "just the two people I was hoping to see." He shook the boy roughly, and waggled his eyebrows at Legolas. "Looking for someone?" he asked, "I hope you didn't think me gullible enough to leave you armed _and_ unwatched?"

Legolas glared at him, and would have rushed the pudgy duke immediately had Aragorn not laid a restraining hand around his wrists. The man palmed a throwing dagger from his belt, and handed it stealthily to the elf.

"Let's see," Harad continued, "both of you could throw down your weapons immediately, or be forcibly rid of them in a most painful manner - though you will die either way." He watched them both unwaveringly, "So what will it be?"

Legolas smiled back coldly, and flung the knife in his face. It took him in the eye, and blood poured down the duke's cheeks in a grotesque rain of red tears as he screamed in pain. Mattius struggled free of his grip and ran to the elf, who stooped to pick him up. Snatching the long knife from Aragorn's left hand, he shoved the crying child into his arms.

"Go," he commanded the startled man, "I'll deal with it from here."

"But…"

"NOW!" Legolas spun in a deadly dance around the room; three men had already fallen before his blade, and the confidence that arose from having overwhelming numbers began to be replaced by caution in the guards.

Aragorn charged towards the study door, clearing his own path with the dagger in his right hand and the child clutched protectively with his left. Legolas glimpsed the two of them flying down the corridor before the remaining seven men closed in a circle around him.

Though the elf had both superior skill and experience, a month of bread and water had sapped his stamina, and once the initial adrenaline began to wear off, exhaustion gnawed at his limbs. An observant guard sensed his momentary weakness, and scored a deep gash across his right thigh. _So this is how it ends. _Legolas thought, falling to one knee. But before the guards could finish him off, Harad's booming voice cried, "Stop!"

The duke struggled forward, a cloth held to his ruined eye. "I want to kill him myself," he said, half-mad with pain and rage. He wrenched a sword from the nearest guard and advanced upon the elf. "You will pay for this," he shrieked in outrage, raising the sword above his head.

Legolas twisted to his side, and though he was unable to duck the blade completely, it missed his heart, plunging instead into less vital flesh. Harad blinked in surprise, and the elf shoved the dagger he still held into his belly, and twisted it upwards. _This is for you Gwain._

The duke's mouth gaped soundlessly as his guts spilled onto the floor, and he collapsed, convulsing in the throes of death. The stunned men gathered around their fallen leader, at a loss for what to do. 

Legolas struggled to his feet, knowing that this would probably be the only chance he had of escape. Since his enemies blocked the exit to the room, the window at his back would have to be avenue enough. To the shouts of armed men, he gathered the last of his strength and leapt from the windowsill.

Blood poured from his side and leg as the air rushed past, but the elf landed cat-light on the ground three stories beneath him. He struggled to his feet as darkness threatened to overwhelm him and spots danced before his eyes.

The pounding of hooves made him look up. Aragorn reined the horse in before him, and extended a hand to the elf. "Come on up," he said.

Legolas reached towards him, and was hauled into the saddle. As strong arms cradled him gently atop the galloping horse, the elf gazed at the man through pain-glazed eyes and asked wryly, "Don't you ever listen?"

Aragorn smiled down at the elf. 

"No." 

* * *

© ai 2003

Please do review. I love reviews. Thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: just realised I don't have much to say…except I'm pretty glad the war is more or less over…maybe…

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 4

Orange light filled his vision, a fiery rose dawn that waited beyond his closed eyelids. Then the unnatural heat of the night beat upon his face, and Legolas bolted upright to view the conflagration that hours earlier had been the Fort of Wold.

He stared expressionless at the flaming buildings in the distance, while the campfire danced mockingly at his side. The sizzle of roasted meat brought his attention back to the present, and Legolas turned to see Aragorn studying him carefully.

"How are you feeling?" the man asked, prodding the golden-brown carcass with a stick.

He ignored the question, and answered with one of his own. "Where's Mattius?"

"The boy?" When Legolas nodded in confirmation, he continued, "With my retainer, and the rest of my party. I sent them ahead with the evidence to Edoras. There'll be people there to help him find his kin if possible, or place him with a good family if not."

The fire crackled and popped in the ensuing silence. Sighing, Legolas turned to him and said, "Thank you." He jerked his head to indicate the burning wreckage to his right. "What happened?" he asked.

"That…well…" Aragorn looked at him sheepishly, "I set fire to the barracks as a distraction. I guess it got a little out of hand."

Legolas felt his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, then an unreasonable mirth filled him and he howled with laughter, clutching his side to prevent the wound splitting open from the exertion.

The man grinned uncertainly at his response, but sobered quickly when the elf grimaced in pain. Hurrying to his side, Aragorn drew back the blankets and hissed at the sight of blood seeping through the bandages. He unwrapped the soaked strips of cloth, and set about stanching the wound.

His gentle ministrations caught the elf off-guard, who cast about for words to hide the confusion he felt at that touch. "Where about yourself? Where will you go now?" he asked.

Aragorn shrugged and waved a hand in his direction. "Someplace where we can get those off," he replied, indicating the bands of metal still around the elf's wrists, "Lothlorien perhaps; it's the closest elven settlement."

Legolas blinked. In the excitement of the night, he had completely forgotten about the steel rings. "Oh," he eloquently replied, blushing at his oversight. 

The conversation died, and Aragorn finished tying off the bandage in silence. That done, he pulled the blankets around the drowsing elf, reaching out to brush back a stray gold lock that had fallen across his face. 

As his fingers touched the soft strands of hair, he started in realization. 

__

What am I doing? 

__

Nothing. he answered himself firmly. _I was brought up by the _Eldar_, it's only natural for me to care for them._

Forcing himself to complete the motion, he stood abruptly and circled the fire to his own blankets. Summoning the memory of Arwen, he threw up her dark beauty as a shield against the barrage of conflicting emotions. But even while amber sparks flew from the dying flames, his dreams burned with a golden fire and the light of brilliant green eyes. 

~

The clang of metal on dirt and the stifled expletive that followed brought Aragorn rapidly out of his uneasy slumber. Blinking to clear away the last dregs of sleep, he stared at the furious elf in incomprehension.

While he watched, Legolas lowered himself slowly to the ground, and started picking through the pile of fallen weaponry.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

The elf did not look up from his search. "A bow," he replied, "and arrows."

Aragorn rose and rummaged through his belongings. Retrieving a longbow and a filled quiver, he handed them over to the elf without comment.

Legolas maneuvered painfully to his feet and murmured his gratitude. When the quiver was slung over his shoulder, he turned hesitantly back to the man.

"You didn't have to come back for me," he began, "but you did. You didn't have to do what you did for Mattius, but you did. For those and many other things, I thank you. But your duties await, Aragorn, son of Arathorn and I can carry on alone from here."

Stunned surprise turned quickly to anger. "No." the man said, voice dangerously low.

"What?"

"I said no," he repeated, "I didn't save your life just to let you throw it away again. It's not safe out there, the duke's people may still looking for us. And how do you propose to get to Lorien?" He gestured at the elf's bandaged leg, "Walk?"

Legolas smiled. "Of course not." Turning his back on the man, he placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

The forest fell silent, then the thunder of hooves startled a flock of birds to flight, and a blindingly white stallion burst through the trees only to halt in front of the elf.

The magnificent beast pawed at the ground, tossing its mane violently. Legolas ran loving fingers along its side, before heaving himself in a concerted effort across its back.

"Farewell then..."

An arrow flew suddenly from the shadows, cutting off his words and grazing his arm. Legolas threw himself from the horse to land in a roll that ended with an arrow pulled taut in his bow. Firing rapidly into the trees, he did not notice a man in tattered livery crawl up behind him.

"Watch out!" Aragorn pounced on the smaller man and wrestled him to the ground, wrenching his wrist to disarm him.

The skirmish ended quickly. With their leader caught, the bedraggled remnants of Harad's cronies soon faded back into woods.

Aragorn released his hold on the squirming man, who hissed at him and rubbed at his injured wrist.

"Tashid!" Legolas exclaimed in surprise at the sorry sight of him; the scarred wreck before him was a far cry from the steward's former haughty self. "Why..."

"You made me lose everything," the man spat out venomously, "It took me twenty years to get to that position in Harad's household, to hold the power that came from being his confidante...And in one night, you took it all away..." He stared at the elf, and madness filled his eyes, "You will pay for this!"

Tashid leapt towards Legolas, his mouth barred in the twisted parody of a grin. The elf held out a hand to fend him off, but Aragorn's blade reached him far sooner, and the thin man crumpled around the sword, maniacal glee frozen forever on his features.

Aragorn wrenched his blade from the body, wiping off the blood with a handful of leaves. Legolas remained sitting by the corpse and watched him work, his face drained of colour.

"He was an innocent," he said softly.

"He was deluded," Aragorn corrected, throwing their blankets onto his horse, "They're not the same thing."

Legolas looked at him then, and the man read guilt in his eyes. "You can't save everyone," he told the elf.

"I wanted him dead," the elf replied, his voice empty, as though that explained it all. He seemed to notice the man's activity for the first time. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going with you," Aragorn said. He bent down to lift the elf and carried him gently to his horse.

To the man's surprise, he made no protest. Instead, Legolas merely sighed, and curled closer into the comforting warmth of Aragorn's arms. 

Aragorn clucked his tongue and sent both horses down the narrow trail at a canter. In his haste to reach the golden woods of Lorien, it did not occur to him to question why the elf's brief touch had made his mouth run dry, or his heart race within the confines of his chest. 

* * *

© ai 2003

r & r people. :)


	5. Chapter 5

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: ahh!! I need some encouragement to finish this people.

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 5

Dusk found the weary travelers at the northern boundary of Rohan. Rolling plains of snow-covered earth stretched for miles in every direction, fringed at the edge of Aragorn's vision by row upon row of tall green trees.

"We should reach Lorien by tomorrow evening at the latest," he said to the elf.

Legolas lay close by the fire, swathed in blankets. He turned pain-glazed eyes to the man beside him, and watched as he threw another twig into the flames. The twisting tongues of red and gold ate at it hungrily, lulling him into the beginnings of a fever dream. He shook it off, and tried to concentrate on what the man was saying.

As light bled from the sky, Aragorn's voice filled the small clearing, a constant murmur of human sound in a land otherwise devoid of Man's presence. He talked of childhood games, and wild parties under moonlit skies. He talked of the family he'd always known and the father he never knew. He talked because the prospect of a laden silence was too dangerous to contemplate.

Legolas listened to the rise and fall of the cadences, a stream of words that made little sense to him in his somnolent state, but which provided distraction enough from the ever-present pain. Then a hitch disrupted the smooth flow of his monotone, and Legolas struggled to focus his attention on what the man had just said.

"…Arwen," Aragorn had said, his voice gone slightly husky.

The elf pushed himself onto his elbows to hear better.

"…_Tinuviel_, I called her," he was saying, "for her beauty is such, dark and rich as the waters of Bruinen at night…"

"Yes," the elf whispered almost inaudibly, caught off guard by the rush of bitterness he felt at the man's words, "there is no fairer among the Eldar in Middle-Earth."

Aragorn looked at him strangely, and asked in muted tones, "Do you know her?"

"Yes," Legolas said again, staring off into the distance, "Once, long ago, when we were young…" He turned the preternaturally bright green eyes on the man and asked, "Do you love her?"

Aragorn hesitated, then replied, "I suppose I do, though I cannot say the same of her feelings for me." It was his turn to gaze into space. He continued, "If to want to protect someone no matter the cost, if to be willing to give everything for that person to be happy is love…than yes, I am in love." 

The elf nodded: his face remained carefully blank although his heart had sunk at the words. He lay back onto the pile of soft cotton blankets and buried his face into the cloth to hide the tears that trickled unbidden down his cheeks. And so he never noticed his companion's brown eyes had been fixed on him for that last sentence, burning with a sacred light as they swept up and down the long line of his body. 

~

It was snowing again when they arrived; on the outside, not in Lorien. The weather was always perfect in Lorien, and they watched the autumn leafed trees in mute appreciation from their snowy vantagepoint. 

They crossed that invisible boundary between Lorien and the rest of the world, and waited as a fair-haired elf detached himself from the shadowy cover of the forest to approach them.

"Haldir," Legolas greeted the new elf.

Haldir bowed in acknowledgment and motioned for the rest of his party to come forward to take up their belongings. "She has been expecting you," was all he said as he led them deeper into the amber woods.

The route through tangled brush and tiny streams seemed at once both familiar and strange. He knew that he had been this way before, but all the world seemed hazy when viewed through a veil of pain, and Legolas could not quite recall how he ended up before the majestic figures of Galadriel and Celeborn seated on their high-backed thrones.

The Lady of Lothlorien was gowned in her customary lengths of silver-on-white gauze, and glowed with a cool radiance. In her lilting voice, she bade her guests come closer, and bestowed a smile upon them.

"Estel of Rivendell, foster-son to Lord Elrond" she addressed the man first, "whose true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the line of Isildur."

Aragorn glanced at his companion from the corner of his eye, but the elf had not startled at the Lady's revelation.

She turned her considerable regard then to Legolas, her misty blue gaze holding the green as she spoke directly to his mind.

__

How do you come, my kin? she asked.

"As a stranger, my lady," he whispered back.

Galadriel nodded. "So be it," she said, and raised her voice for those assembled to hear, "The Golden Wood bids you both welcome." At her authoritative wave, two figures alike in both face and build stepped forward.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" Aragorn cried in delight at the familiar sight of them.

The twins smiled and took his arm, leading him away from the high-ceilinged audience room. Legolas watched him go, and Galadriel watched him watch.

"Kinsman," she called him when the three were out of earshot, "we should see to your needs." A small group of elves moved to help him from the room, almost carrying him down the long hallways to a chamber where he could rest. Their competent hands soothed him into the large soft bed and after water had been brought to wash his wounds, they left to him to his privacy.

Legolas leaned into the satin cushions, and had just closed his eyes when she entered, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"You are running away," she accused.

"I know," he replied.

"But you do not know what you run from," she said, "Him, or yourself? Legolas…" 

He raised a hand to stop her words. "I come as a stranger," he reminded her wearily.

"And so you do," she replied, "and you may rest anonymous here for as long as you wish, but…kinsman, you cannot love him."

"I do not know what you speak of," he lied, turning away. 

Galadriel merely continued as though he had not spoken, "He will be King, young one, a great king of Men. His fate is written in the stars, and the Undomiel shines at his side."

"So what?" he said before he could stop himself.

The Lady sighed, and went to sit next to him on the bed. At her gentle touch, the Ring on her finger flared, and the shackles around his wrists sprang open. She tossed them away from the bed in disgust.

"You could not have him for eternity," she said softly.

"I don't care about eternity," he cried, abandoning all pretense, "To live for the here and now - that is all I ask."

She looked at him steadily, and Legolas felt his fair skin begin to colour. He raised his head and forced himself to meet her stare for stare.

"Could you really?" she asked, infinitely gentle.

The resolve he'd gathered slowly melted away, and he seemed to sink into himself. "No," he murmured more to himself than to her, "I suppose not."

Galadriel gathered the silent elf in her arms, trying to soothe away the fear and tension. But Legolas remained still, taut as an arrow nocked in a quiver, and all her whispered consolation could not ease his sorrow.

After a while, she heard him sigh and say, "It's too soon…I feel like I've betrayed Gwain."

The Lady shook her head. "Love does not work that way," she said, "We do not choose it, it chooses us. Besides, if there were only room for one in our hearts, what a tragic world this would be."

She lay him gently back onto the bed and kissed his brow. "Rest, my dear," she said as she prepared to leave the room, "Things will seem better tomorrow, I promise."

* * *

© ai 2003

pls?


	6. Chapter 6

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: I'm so busy these days, I don't know if I'll have time to finish this. Would it be better if I wrote 2 or 3 more chapters than end it off? Don't really want to leave it hanging…

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 6

After the requisite pillow throwing and shirt pulling and name-calling had been accomplished, Aragorn collapsed into an over-stuffed armchair, still laughing helplessly at the antics of Elrond's sons.

Elladan swiped a nut from the low table, and threw it at his brother. Elrohir caught it and tossed it smoothly into his mouth.

"Were you ever planning to come back?" Elladan asked over the noisy crunching, "We've missed you terribly - no one seems to be able to take the blame for our mischief as convincingly as you do."

Aragorn smiled wryly, and answered, "Perhaps someday…I wasn't expecting to see either of you again so soon." 

"Well, Arwen's not the only one who visits Grandmama you know," Elladan replied. He glanced over to see the man's response to his sister's name. He had a very good snide remark prepared, to be delivered when his foster brother blushed.

Aragorn only looked back blandly. "How is she?" he asked.

"Oh, as usual," Elladan said, rather disappointed, "Attractive, intelligent, all that sort of thing."

"I see," Aragorn said noncommittally. 

"What about you?" he asked, "What dastardly deeds have you been up to?"

"Not much," the man replied, "wondered around with the Rohirrim for a bit, got mixed up in a conspiracy, and suddenly I'm on the run with an elf who won't tell me his name…" He trailed off meaningfully, and his companions shifted uncomfortably where they sat.

Elladan cleared his throat; the sound was unnaturally harsh in the otherwise silent room. "Well," he said loudly, "that's all very nice." He continued in a clumsy attempt to change the topic, "I've recently acquired a very nice brooch…"

The man ignored him and threw a conveniently located cushion at Elrohir, who had so far been content to listen to the companionable bickering. "So…" he drawled, trying to make his next remark sound offhand, "who is he?" 

"Huh?" Elrohir replied intelligently.

Elladan rolled his eyes at his brother and turned to answer Aragorn. "We can't say," he said apologetically, "custom and all. He's seeking refuge from himself in a sense, and being nameless is part of that. Though I must admit, no one's invoked that particular custom for the longest time. I'm not asking, but I wish I knew what happened to him."

Aragorn shrugged. The stranger elf had not exactly been talkative during their short acquaintance. "So would I," he said.

~

During the long hours of supper, Aragorn waited impatiently for a chance to speak to the Lady. _Just to be sure he's healing._ he told himself, so firmly that he almost believed it.

Galadriel mingled with the guests in the long dining room, seeming to converse with everyone but him. Aragorn was just about to give up and search for his elf on his own when she somehow appeared before him.

"My Lady," he murmured, sweeping a bow.

She nodded in acknowledgment. "Lord Aragorn."

He hesitated for a moment, before plunging into the heart of the matter. "Lady," he said, "How is he?"

Galadriel surveyed him coolly, her eyes gone suddenly expressionless although her manner remained courteous. "Well enough," she replied.

A tension ran out of his shoulders and he drained the cup of wine he held in his hand. "I was wondering…if perhaps…" he tentatively began.

"Not yet," the Lady said, shaking her head, "It's not time."

"But…" Aragorn protested.

Galadriel raised a slender white hand to halt his arguments. "I have to see to my people. Perhaps we could talk some other time." With that statement, she melted back into the crowd, leaving the irate man to watch her leave in consternation. 

He would have gone after her, but Elladan and Elrohir had come up to either side of him, and placed a firm hand on each of his shoulders. For all that their hold was gentle, theirs was an elven strength, and even a king of Men could not escape it.

"What are you doing?" he hissed angrily, struggling against them anyway.

"The night is young, Estel, and the entertainment in need of an audience." Elladan forcibly led him towards a group of elves clustered before the fireplace. "Mirith," he called to one of them, "my brother has come."

A slender elf maiden detached herself from the crowd and walked over towards them. At the sight of the man held between the twins, she smiled and extended her hand to Aragorn.

Unwilling to make a scene, he brushed his lips across it. "Mirith," he greeted her curtly. She was an old friend - a dear friend who not so long ago had recognized his youthful frustrations and taken him to her bed to teach him of women and of men. But that night, she was not the one for whom his soul burned.

"If you will excuse me for a moment." Turning to his brothers, he dragged them out of earshot.

"Just get to the point," he demanded, crossing his hands over his chest. 

Several seconds passed before Elladan gave up and tried to explain. "It's for your own good," he insisted, "You'll thank her for it in the future."

"Firstly," Aragorn cut him off, "I haven't a clue what you're talking about. And secondly, I think I can decide 'my own good' for myself."

"Estel…" Elladan said. His twin held a finger to his lips to silence him. 

"You've already done your duty; it ended today, when you brought him to Lorien," Elrohir told the man, "And we - that is, Grandma and ourselves - don't think it beneficial to anyone for you to see him anymore."

"But why?" Aragorn asked, almost pleadingly, "What does it matter if I do?"

The twins turned chillingly similar gazes on him. "Because it matters to you if you don't," Elladan told him.

Aragorn felt as though he'd just been hit over the head, and hadn't yet had time to realise it. But before half-formed notions could condense into anything solid, Elladan tugged him gently by the arm back to where Mirith stood, and thrust him into her arms.

Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, the man was aware that they danced to the music of a lute, and that the elf maiden had inched ever closer, finally resting her head upon his shoulder. And when she whispered into his ear and led him into her own chamber, he knew his body tried to match her ardor with his own. Thus, it was not from lack of effort that he could not lose himself in her embrace, and though he tried to conceal it, she knew it anyway.

"Aragorn," she said breathlessly against him, "Let me call for Mirandon." Mirandon was her brother, and a teacher in his own right.

The man froze and held her away from him. "What do you mean?" he asked harshly.

Mirith lay her palm against his cheek and said, "Perhaps he could succeed where I have failed; he may be the one you need to help you forget."

"No." Aragorn turned from her caress. "It is a woman's touch I crave." 

"Estel…" Mirith clucked her tongue in disapproval, "Woman or man, when will you learn that it does not matter? Let him try."

"No!" he repeated vehemently. She didn't understand; not gender nor age nor status had ever been a barrier to love. But large thick curls hung to her waist, and it was soft brown eyes that watched him, so reminiscent of the dark beauty he had left behind in Rivendell. He could justify being with her - after all, he loved Arwen, and missed her. Didn't he? He reached for Mirith.

The flash of an emerald earring distracted him, summoning the memory of green eyes filled with pride and pain and sorrow and something else…Aragorn gasped as a surge of pure longing coursed through his veins, and only sheer will kept him on his feet.

"I can't…I'm sorry." Spinning on his heel, the man nearly ran out of the room, denial ringing with each step.

Mirith watched him go in silence and shook her head at the foolishness of men…and of elves.

* * *

© ai 2003

hmm…I'd like to know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: thanks a million to all my dear reviewers! I really appreciate your encouragement.

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 7

The next day, Aragorn could not keep still.

He paced aimlessly through the long corridors grown into the very woods of Lorien, stopping from time to time to admire a particularly vibrant blossom, or the cool majesty of a mallorn. But though he let his feet wander mostly where they would, he kept carefully away from the rooms and dwellings where a convalescent elf might be.

Just past noon, he retired to his own chamber to write a letter to King Thengel, explaining his prolonged absence. He wrote another to his mother, within it extolling the beauty of the Golden Woods, and asking after her health and happiness. Then he sent them to Rohan and Rivendell by way of the fortnightly couriers and stayed in the stables with the horses until the stable master clucked his tongue and chased him out.

Elladan and Elrohir sought him out in the early hours after noon, with an offer to hunt. But staring at the longbows and quivers slung across their backs, the last thing Aragorn wanted was the memory of arrows that flew unerringly true, and of the slender hand that shot them.

Finally, even the twins grew annoyed with his fretting, and confronted him in one of Lorien's numerous gardens.

Elrohir pinned him against the trunk of a large tree while Elladan paced back and forth before him, hands clasped behind his back.

"It seems," Elladan told his twin, pointedly ignoring the struggling man, "that our baby brother has a problem."

"Oh, so you noticed," Aragorn said sardonically, staring pointedly at his confined limbs.

"It seems," Elrohir said right over him, "that our baby brother is too much of a coward to deal with it."

"What!" Aragorn shouted, "I never…"

"But perhaps we have misjudged him," Elladan continued, "After all, Grandmother did lay down some _rules._"

Elrohir shrugged, and stared Aragorn in the eye, mischief dancing in his gaze. "If it mattered that much to me," he said, "I could care less about _rules_." He winked and released the man. Elladan walked with him away from their brother, leaving him alone with their words.

Aragorn watched them go, rubbing at his bruised shoulders. As unsubtle as they had been about it, his brothers had a point; he'd never run from anything before, and he wasn't about to start now. 

~ 

He excused himself from supper early, ostensibly to wander among the orchards while it was still light.

Strawberries didn't usually mature beside apple blossoms, but Aragorn supposed that the Lady of Lorien could grow her gardens any way it pleased her. And it did please her.

The rustle of skirts made him turn. 

"Pretty, aren't they?" the Lady Galadriel asked in greeting, and held out a hand to stop him in mid-bow.

He nodded, surprised and somewhat dismayed at her presence; as the host he had thought her ensconced in the dining hall for the better part of the night.

"Pretty," she said again, gesturing at the expanse of delicate pinks and sultry reds before them, "but which cannot exist outside this tiny haven."

"Do you have something to say to me?" he asked directly.

She smiled at him. "Walk with me," she beckoned, guiding them down a narrow path that led ever downwards.

"There are things that no one can explain," she said to the rhythm of their plodding steps, "Magic, Fate, Love…and yet, we are as much subject to them as we are to the air that fills our lungs, or the water that brings us life."

"Your point being?" he asked. He was growing restless, and wanted to find his stranger elf before darkness descended.

"Impatient child," she chided gently, "I will bring you to him when it is time."

Aragorn blushed. "I didn't mean…"

"But you did," she continued, "which is precisely the problem." They had stopped in front of what appeared to be a large basin, or a small fountain. It was filled to the brim, and the water it contained shimmered in the sunset. "Tell me what you see."

Drawn against his will, Aragorn bent over the silver basin. "War," he whispered reverently, as the scenes of carnage leapt out at him, but even then he could not draw his eyes away. "So much death. The Kingdoms of Men shattered….wait. The White City, restored? And Arwen, a queen. I do not understand."

Galadriel nodded and said, "The Mirror of Galadriel shows the future. Or rather, possible futures. It will be your choice, heir to Isildur, sometime years from now. For the moment, my dear…need I tell you what you did _not_ see?"

Aragorn backed away from the glistening bowl and away from her. "What you're saying is…"

"That there is no future for the two of you together," she finished for him. The Eldar did not age as Men did, but in that instant, she looked very tired, and very old. "I wish it could be otherwise," she said sincerely, "It is a cruel hoax, for you see, you are also his great love, the truest and the best."

The man stared at her, disbelief written all over his face. An emotion he hadn't even known was there seemed to die at her words, and he recognized it as hope. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "But you had to know."

The Lady gathered her skirts and started back up the stairs. When she turned around and saw that he was not following, she tossed her head in an uncharacteristic gesture of annoyance. 

"Well come on," she said, "Do you want to see him or not?"

"But I thought…"

She smiled sadly, spreading her arms to encompass the glen in which she ruled. "They still grow together," she said, "in this tiny haven."

~

Legolas sat with his back against the wall, staring at the moon just risen amongst the stars. He didn't turn to look when the door opened; Galadriel had probably sent someone to bring him supper, and he wasn't very hungry.

"Leave it on the table," he said, content to dream in the darkness.

The shadow slipped fully into the room, but did not leave.

Legolas sighed and turned to greet the visitor, resigned to another session of meaningless pleasantries. His expression did not change as recognition seized him, but the sudden tension with which he held himself betrayed him more than words could ever have.

Aragorn walked towards the elf, holding the basket of strawberries strewn with apple blossoms before him like a peace offering, as though bridled passion could be so easily checked. He might have lighted a candle, but it wasn't really all that dark, and the shadows helped hide his heightened colour, his quickened breath.

"Thank you," Legolas said politely, taking the basket from him.

"I just wanted to see how you were feeling," he said by way of explanation.

"Very well," the elf replied, and after a pause, "Thank you."

Smooth fingers brushed against the man's, and suddenly, Aragorn could bear the small talk no longer. The night was too still, the air around them too full of unrealized yearnings. There were a thousand reasons for him to leave right then, and only one for him to stay, But that one was reason enough.

Ignoring the strawberries that fell to the ground, he pulled the elf off the bed and into a desperate embrace.

Legolas stood rigid against him, neither pliant nor protesting, held less by surprise than by the fear of what he would do if he did not. But there no one was there to disapprove, and guilt was eclipsed by the fire that burned where they touched…He relaxed inch by painstaking inch in the man's arms, nearly gasping in wonder at how _right_ it felt.

He let Aragorn lead him back onto the satin sheets, where they lay side by side amongst the apple blossoms.

The heady scent of crushed flowers filled the room. "I…" Aragorn began.

The elf put a finger to his lips and shook his head. "Don't say it," he told him, "Don't say anything."

And because Aragorn hadn't had much to say in the first place, he let it be, and simply held him closer.

* * *

© ai 2003

please r&r.


	8. Chapter 8

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: I keep meaning to end it, but then I can't bear to and the story just keeps going on and on…sigh…

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 8

The dawn was still grey when Aragorn awoke. He shivered at the touch of morning air on his skin, and from the absence of a warm body against his.

A hot wave of anxiety rose in his chest, and tossing aside the blankets, he ran out of the room. But his elf was only sitting in the garden, clearly visible from where he stood. Feeling rather foolish, the man walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder; memory of the glorious night stirred his blood when a warm cheek tilted to meet it.

He lifted his hand and traced the elf's lips with his finger, then tilted his chin to see more clearly those startling green eyes. It seemed impossible that he could feel so much for someone of whom he knew nothing, and yet the enigma tantalized him, made him ache to peel off the layers of mystery that shrouded the elf just as he had coaxed the clothes from his skin…

His gaze was trapped, like a swallow caught in a cage of luminous green. For a moment, he thought he was falling, and then he bent towards the sitting elf and kissed him softly on the lips.

The elf's response was equally gentle, and Aragorn felt the control he exercised to keep it that way. He frowned, and pressed harder against him. He didn't want the elf controlled, he wanted to hear his breath run ragged, to feel his heart begin to race, and to know that it was his touch that did it.

Passion clouded his senses as his hands moved over the elf's body, and time lost all meaning. The old adage that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all had never seemed more true. He wanted to shout his revelation to the heavens, but contented himself with whispering it into the smoothness of the elf's skin, and even that was lost in rapture of the man and the elf as the sun rose above them. 

~

Elladan absently brushed aside the foliage, and blushed furiously at the scene before him. Spinning on his heel, he turned his back on the sheen of skin in the light, walking back to the dining hall where his twin and Grandmother sat in companionable silence.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow when he walked in alone, and asked, "I thought you were going to ask them to breakfast."

"Oh," Elladan replied, feeling the heat begin to rise in his face yet again, "I don't think they're hungry yet.

Galadriel smiled and beckoned for the food to be served. "They'll come when they will," she said benignly. 

"Lady," Elladan said hesitantly, "are you sure about this? I was of the opinion that you disapproved." His brother nodded to indicate shared reservation.

Galadriel met the stare of her daughter's sons, and their blue gazes fell before her own. "I admit I think it better had they never met. But they did, and to keep them apart now when they have so little time together would be even more cruel."

The silver peal of a bell brought the lady's attention to the messenger waiting in the doorway.

"You see," she said sadly, as her eyes fell on the dark-haired child holding the messenger elf's hand, "already Fate claims her due."

~

She led Niere and the child through one of the many passages to the place where the man and elf would be. It wasn't the shortest way, because she knew that the Rivendell elf's arrival meant the beginning of the end of their refuge in Lorien. And yet it wasn't the longest way either, because life had to go on for all of them.

Aragorn and her kinsman sat close together on the grass, and though they did not touch, there was something intimate about the way their fingers lay just that inch apart, and the intensity in their eyes as they watched one another.

Galadriel cleared her throat uncomfortably and they both turned around, rising to their feet. 

"Niere!" the man exclaimed in surprise, staring at the elf clad in travelling garb of dark green and brown. He followed the stretch of her arm down to the human child. Mattius tugged furiously against her hold and finally broke free, running towards the Legolas.

The golden-haired elf picked up the squirming child. "_Gwador_!" the child shrieked happily, tugging at the elf's clothes and hair.

"What are you doing here?" Aragorn asked his Rivendell friend.

Niere drew the letter from somewhere about her and gave it to him. It was from his mother, explaining how the men from Rohan had brought Mattius to his closest kin - herself. But it was impossible for the child to be raised in Rivendell, and she bade her son seek out the Rangers, who would surely admit one of their own.

While the man mulled over the problem, Niere moved slowly towards Legolas, her movements so smooth and purposeful that only he noticed her come near. He should have realized that there was more to come, especially since _she_ had been sent as messenger…Putting Mattius down, he inclined his head in greeting, and waited.

"Cousin - " she began in a low voice meant only for him, " - Legolas, please go back to _Eryn Lasgalen_. Estel must follow his own path now and…there are rumours of a war with the south. Your father needs you."

Legolas took the news calmly; his face remained expressionless while she spoke of the horrors that had invaded his home, of the dark mist that burned the verdant greens and left them a grey, lifeless mess. He listened to her tell of the rising panic that his father was barely able to control and his desperate call for the son whom his people loved to return. 

When she had finished speaking, he glanced down at his tightly clenched hands, then to the smiling boy at his feet and the elegant figure of his lover. Guilt of long-neglected duties tugged at his mind, but how could he tear himself away from this haven when everything had only just begun…

Legolas heard his father's voice, a distant memory. 

__

…it is a matter of choice, for better or for worse. But whatever your decision, make sure it is one you will not regret… 

He bowed his head and knew what he would choose to do.

Aragorn fingered the sheet of parchment, debating whether he could tear it up into tiny little pieces and pretend he had never seen it. He looked up and met his elf's hooded green gaze. He couldn't leave him, wouldn't leave him, and the rest of the world would just have to deal with its own problems. 

"I…" he began, reaching out to the elf, but before he could tell him how he would always come first, the elf cut him off.

"When will you leave?" Legolas asked, as though it was already given that he would go.

"I'm not going anywhere," the man said tightly. 

"But Mattius…"

"I know what I'm doing." Aragorn paced towards him angrily, stopping less than an armslength away.

Galadriel and the twins wisely chose that moment to disappear. Niere took a reluctant Mattius' hand in hers and slipped discretely from the scene as well. 

"Do you really want me to leave Lorien?" Aragorn asked, rage smoldering in his voice.

Legolas tore his eyes from the man's relentless stare. The grass at his feet suddenly commanded his undivided attention. "Yes," he whispered.

"Fine." 

Caught by surprise at the man's quick agreement, Legolas looked up. 

"We'll set off tomorrow morning. There will be Rangers in the forests of Mirkwood. We'll head there," he continued.

"We? Mirkwood?" the elf repeated weakly. He should have known it couldn't be that simple.

"Of course you're coming with us," Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the elf's reaction. "You didn't think I was going to manage that little monster on my own, did you?" 

"But I…"

"And besides," the man's voice dropped to a mere whisper, and held a tenderness which Legolas had never thought to hear, "I want you with me... I love you."

"No," Legolas murmured hopelessly, "please…"

Aragorn took a step forward and swept the elf into his arms, holding him so tightly it was a wonder either of them could breathe. 

"Shh," he told the elf, releasing his right arm to place a finger on his lips, "Don't say anything remember?" Then he replaced his hand with warm, soft lips and a kiss that was equal parts passion, equal parts pain. 

* * *

© ai 2003

r&r. thanks.


	9. Chapter 9

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: thank you thank you thank you to zephyr for giving me the inspiration to let Niere play a larger role in the fic. I won't tell you how, read on to find out… 

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 9

It had stopped snowing on the day they left Lorien, and the world stretched before them in an unbroken blanket of white. Yet, it was a deceptive beauty, for the layers of snow hid roots and stones that could lame a horse, or trip an unsuspecting traveller. 

Aragorn scouted ahead, returning now and then to where the two elves and the child rode at a slower pace.

Legolas winced as his horse shied to avoid a passing hare, the half-healed muscles in his thigh and sides protesting indignantly. Niere gave him a questioning glance, but he smiled reassuringly and waved her away.

When she had turned back to the path, Legolas sighed and allowed the pain to tighten the corners of his eyes and mouth. It would be dark soon; they would have to hurry to reach the next decent campsite in time as it was, and he would not slow them down further.

The relentless ride to the cascading waterfalls left him pale and breathless. Legolas gripped the reins more tightly and tried to convince the world to stop spinning. Then his mind went blank, and he could feel himself falling…

Strong arms halted his abrupt descent, and the elf gave himself up to the warmth of Aragorn's embrace. 

"You idiot," the man berated him, his harsh words a marked contrast to his gentle tone, "Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm fine," Legolas forced through tightly pressed lips.

"Of course you are."

The elf frowned. "Don't patronise me."

"I'm not," Aragorn replied condescendingly, tucking the blankets around his prone body, "I expect to see you dancing a jig tomorrow." He sat up and made to leave.

"Don't go." The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and Legolas cursed his foolish tongue. "I mean…you don't have to…it's just…"

The man looked around to see Niere competently setting up camp somewhere in the distance. "All right," he said quietly.

Legolas blinked. "Oh," was all he could think to say.

"Move over," Aragorn told him, "You're taking up all the blankets." The man slipped beneath the layers of cloth, pulling the elf against him. 

Legolas sighed in contentment and buried his face in the man's chest. The lassitude that had plagued him since his captivity was burned away by Aragorn's touch, and he never wanted to move from this position. But.

"What will you do when this is all over?" he asked the man. Subtlety seemed to have deserted him, although the other did not notice.

Aragorn shrugged. "We could go back to Rohan. It's a beautiful country. There are so many places I want to show you - valleys and plains so lush and green…" His voice trailed off and he looked down at the elf. "But I will go wherever you want to, be wherever you are." 

He never questioned the elf's continued presence by his side, and Legolas barely choked back the sob in his throat, ducking his head to burning in his eyes. No matter what his decision was, someone would get hurt. He could not choose one man over his people, but if he asked him to stay…For _this_ man, what would he not do?

Love was a dangerous thing. "And you are a willing fool," the elf murmured to himself. So he would bury this love, and leave, and not give him the chance to ask. 

__

Coward. his mind accused.

__

Yes.

Yet there was more, so much more to it than that.

"Have you never wondered who I really am?" Legolas asked in wonder.

The man tilted his head, mulling over the question. "At first," he admitted, "Now…it doesn't seem so important anymore."

"I want to tell you," the elf said bitterly, "But I cannot find the words…"

Aragorn shook his head and stopped him firmly, saying, "It doesn't matter. Tell me when you are ready. It is enough that you are here."

__

Ahh, but it is precisely that which cannot be. the elf thought in private. 

"I want to be with you," he whispered, voice muffled against Aragorn's raiment, "Please believe that, no matter what happens." But he did not know if the man heard. 

~

The moon had risen high when Legolas ascertained Aragorn was deep in slumber. He gently extricated himself from the tangle of the man's limbs and searched for his fallen cloak in the dim light. Throwing it around his shoulders, the elf made his way to the silent figure who stood at the jagged edge of the waterfall. 

Niere turned at the sound of his soft footfalls and smiled. Her pale blue eyes glowed with a cat's intensity in the night, and her welcome was sad, but expectant.

They stood listening to the steady cadence of the water for a time, while she waited for him to tell her what he had come here to say.

Finally, he whispered into the uncompromising night, a plea that rent her soul, "Does it have to be this way?"

Niere remained silent. He already knew the answer to his question, but it was his choice and his love and she had to hear him say the words…

"Help me let him go."

She felt something shatter then, something beautiful and precious…_if only love were ever truly enough_…Niere closed her eyes, reaching out in a futile attempt to grasp at the lingering traces.

"Help me," he repeated, "please."

She sighed and brought her mind back to the unpleasant present. "Yes," she said quietly, "that was why I came." 

Niere watched his face as she began to walk slowly towards him, hips swaying beneath the loose material of her pants. "It will not be easy," she told the other elf, seeking to decipher his hidden expressions, "There is something different about this one; the bond between both of you is so deep I'm afraid…" Her voice trailed off. _I'm afraid of what the breaking of it will do to you._

Legolas met her eyes for a moment, then turned away from her gaze. "I know." 

She nodded, opened her arms to him, and waited. A long time ago, on another moonlit night, she had loved him like that too.

How many times had she held him thus? Her foolish cousin, who loved so deeply that he forgot his loves were only human, only mortal. There was something about their brief beauty that held him to them; their lives were such passing, intangible things. He was as a moth drawn to a brilliantly burning flame - knowing full well that he would eventually get burnt, but unable to keep himself from them anyway. Yet for all the heartbreaks that she had nursed him through, all the bitter disappointment and tender partings, she had never before seen the elf prince so broken, or so utterly bereft.

Niere had spoken truly when she'd told him no one had ever loved him as much as this man. But what she had not said was that to her knowledge, he had never loved someone more either. 

As time continued its inexorable passing, Legolas clung to her, too proud to cry and too hurt to hide the pain. She hugged him tight and wept the tears that he could not - but she could do nothing for his heart. 

* * *

© ai 2003

Reviews make me happy. 

You know what to do. :)


	10. Chapter 10

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: Hope to end it in another 3, at most 4 chapters. Thanks to everyone who've r&r!

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 10

Legolas stared silently at the dark green foliage overhead. He inhaled, and the tangy aroma of oak and pine and fig filled his senses.

__

Eryn Lagaslen. Mirkwood. 

Home.

He hadn't realised how much he'd missed it - but standing at the edge of the shadowy forest in which he'd been raised, it was all the elf could do not to run his fingers down each familiar bark and whisper to the trees.

Mattius reached imperiously upwards, and grabbed at a handful of leaves on a low-lying branch. The forest rustled dangerously, breaking Legolas' reverie.

"_Diiin taur!_" Legolas bade them be silent, and the sizzle of leaf against razor-edged leaf slowly died away. The boy slid obliviously off the horse and pranced ahead, gathering fallen cones from atop the snow.

Aragorn eyed him curiously.

"I never knew trees did that," he said to the elf. 

Legolas shrugged and said, "They have their own consciousness. They do not like being disturbed."

"I meant I never knew that the forest obeyed elves." But he did - in another life and another forest, the trees had moved only for Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.

Legolas froze. "I…" he began. Tension lined the muscles beneath his shirt. He could not tell him…

The elf's sudden distress cut Aragorn to the core. "It doesn't matter," he said hurriedly, placing a comforting hand on his arm, "You don't have to explain."

Slowly, both became aware of the warmth that spread from that tactile contact, and smothered desire flared in their eyes. Aragorn bent from atop his own horse to take the reins from his elf, and drew them closer…

"Look!" Mattius' excited call broke them apart swiftly, and Legolas blushed furiously as the child came back into view.

They glanced in his direction, to the proud woman who stood with her companion, both carrying crossbows aimed at their heads.

Aragorn loosened his sword from its sheath.

"Wait," Legolas cautioned, putting his hand over his, "Look carefully. They are the Rangers you have come to seek."

The man let the steel slide back in and dismounted from his horse. Holding both hands in clear view by his sides, he narrowed the distance to within speaking range.

The Rangers watched his approach warily. When he had paused, the woman asked, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"By the blood of Numenor that flows in both our veins," Aragorn said quietly, "and in the child at my side, put down your weapons. I only wish to talk."

At the mention of this ancient line of kings, the stoic pair before them relaxed fractionally, and the woman who had spoken came up to greet him.

"I am Esana," she introduced herself and gestured to her companion, who had not yet put down his bow. "He is my brother, Esandor. Speak."

Aragorn hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I am…Strider." he said, "This boy is called Mattius, and the Rangers are all that are left of his blood-kin."

Esana's eyes narrowed. "Strider…" she glanced past him and saw the elf. Her eyes widened in recognition, but all she said was, "Come to our fire. Then perhaps we will talk." Turning her back to the three of them, she moved deeper into the forest. They followed, Esandor still trekking cautiously behind them, crossbow drawn taut in his hand. 

She brought them before the eldest of her clan, who sat drowsing beside a well-hidden campfire. He was a tiny old man - white-hair and beard framed a face more lined than Legolas remembered - yet his back remained straight for all his years, and his eyes twinkled with intelligence as he watched them come.

The elf blanched at the familiar face and tried to shrink into the surrounding shadows. But the ancient one paid him no attention, and he relaxed soon enough to see Mattius gently led to the elder's side to be carefully examined, as well as the resulting nod that followed.

The ancient one gestured to a middle-aged woman, who detached herself from the crowd. She knelt in front of the curious boy and held out a piece of candy. Mattius shied away, eyes fearfully seeking the elf. But the sweet proved a temptation too great, and when Legolas nodded encouragingly at him, he took it from her shyly.

"Mattius," the woman spoke gently, "My name is Cisin. I had a little boy once, but he's gone, and I'm all alone now. Would you like to live with me?" Her face was warm, her expression friendly, and she smelled of cooking and clean linen and _mother_. The child's face screwed up as he considered her words, then he nodded furiously, the candy still clutched in his fist.

"I'm eight," he announced importantly, "And I'll take care of you."

Cisin smiled at his seriousness and hugged the boy to her. When she let go, tears of joy stained her cheeks. "Let's go then," she told him.

An aching sense of loss descended upon Legolas when the boy was brought away to meet his new family, distracting him so that he did not notice that the other humans had been dismissed, and that he stood alone before an old friend whom he had watched grow and whom he would see die.

"So you have returned," the eldest of the Rangers said querulously.

"Yes." Legolas moved gracefully to kneel by his friend's side. "How have you been?" he asked softly, noting the stiffness with which the man moved and the grimace of pain that crossed his face each time he shifted his legs.

"As well as an old man can be," he answered, smiling, "Will you stay with us tonight, or go immediately to your father?"

Legolas' expression grew suddenly cold, but the elderly Ranger recognised it for the mask it was. His eyes followed the elf's as they flashed towards the man called Strider an instant before his attention focused on him once again.

"I think it would be best if I did not stay the night," he said softly, "I'd appreciate it if you kept that to yourself."

"I see," the old man said as he began to understand. Sometimes the elves loved them longer, and sometimes they loved them and left. But Men and Elves had separate destines, and the Eldar had long since realised that there would come a time when they would be forced to leave and let their human lovers continue the mortal cycle of birth and death. In the end, all that remained for an elf would be another love lost, another heartbreak in an immortal existence with memories of a parting which could not be softened by time. 

The Ranger continued, saying gently, "We can keep him busy tonight, but I cannot guarantee that he will not seek you out. It would not be difficult, considering our current location."

Legolas shook his head. "He doesn't know who I am," he said, voice tightly controlled.

"Ahh…" The Ranger reached forward and prodded at the glowing embers to hide the pity in his eyes, "Perhaps it is for the best."

The conversation tapered off, and amber sparks danced in the silence.

"Hael," Legolas said suddenly, "I have another favour to ask. Would you keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't do anything…drastic."

"Of course."

The elf did not speak again. Perhaps it really was better this way, after all, you couldn't mourn a name that you never knew… 

And you couldn't lose what you never really had.

* * *

© ai 2003


	11. Chapter 11

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: 2 more chapters to go. Thanks for your support.

Oh yes, special thanks to zephyr for that whole Niere bit… : )

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 11

Supper was wild boar carved from the spit. Honey and oil dripped down the browning roast onto a heap of potatoes and wild carrots below, filling the air with a mouth-watering aroma.

Aragorn sprawled in a corner, content to bask in the simplicity of the Rangers' life. He was warm and safe and more relaxed than he had been in…he paused to think…five years now. Had it really been so long? Ever since he had stopped being Estel and started being Aragorn, things had become increasingly complicated. Sometimes it just didn't seem worth it. 

But sometimes it did. He glanced down at the elf lying on his lap, and smiled. Shadows danced across his elf's pale features, dappling the high cheekbones and startling green eyes. Aragorn cast his mind back to another night, one that had been moonless, one which had brought this beautiful stranger into his life. 

For a moment, a silver basin filled with images of what might be flashed through his thoughts, but he pushed it away angrily. He would make his own fate. Then the elf met his gaze, and the world narrowed down to the being in his arms, and a heart-stopping rush of desire.

The spirits he'd imbibed earlier surged through his blood, coating his vision with a fine mist. He bent to brush those soft lips, and gasped when the elf's arms snaked around him, pulling him firmly down, down…

In the distance, a woman's voice sang out, her thin wail cutting through the darkness.

From around them, voices rose to join hers, counterpoint and harmony, so that the clearing thrummed with the strength of their song. Man and elf broke apart, enraptured by the haunting melody.

Young men and women began to rise and run into the clear ring around the fire. They swayed to the music as beads of sweat rose from their skin, so that hair and clothes clung to their person. 

Drawn against his will, Aragorn stared hungrily at the dancers. The song called to him, and he unconsciously rose, one foot poised in front of the other. But he did not know the steps, nor the rhythm of the dance, and so he did not know how to begin. In his preoccupation, the man never noticed the elf's face turn suddenly expressionless, or that new sorrow that gleamed in his eyes.

Moments that were hours had come and gone when Aragorn started at a touch on his arm. 

"Let me lead you," the elf murmured softly. Legolas took him by the hand and led him into the midst of the gathered crowd.

Heat pounded him from every side, and Aragorn was lost in the swirling emotions that emanated from the people. Blood roared in his ears, and his heart beat with the rhythm of the music. There was something primitive about the chanted phrases and undulating movements, something that would not be denied. Aragorn felt his sense of self begin to melt away, and struggled desperately against the overpowering sensations.

Sinuous bodies pressed in around him, separating him from the elf. But once or twice amidst the dancing, the lithe figure caught his eye, and gave him an encouraging nod. At that sign of approval, Aragorn dipped lower, spun faster and gave himself over completely to the magic of the moment.

It was perhaps inevitable in such constricted circumstances that other hands slipped into his tunic and pulled them from his shoulders, and that his own cupped first one slim waist and then another. The king of Men was a beacon in the darkness, and his people fought for a piece of his glowing light. Esana in particular claimed familiarity, and watched him with smoldering eyes that held an unmistakable invitation. But Aragorn only smiled, and paid her no more and no less attention than he did any other, and soon she was swallowed back into undulating mass. 

And so they danced, the descendants of Numenor, danced harder and better than they ever had because their king was now among them, even though they did not know it. Making his way gracefully to the edge of the crowd, Legolas watched the scene before him with shadowed eyes. 

Niere appeared silently at his side. "Are you sure…" she began, glancing worriedly at her cousin's too-pale face.

"No," Legolas said, barely audible above the hypnotic song, "but then I suppose I never will be." He turned to her and bowed. "Will you come with me now, my Lady?" he asked formally.

Surprise and a fair amount of consternation flashed across his features when she refused his proffered hand. 

"Let me lead you," she told him instead. 

Legolas smiled sadly at the familiar words and slipped after her into the quiet beyond the firelight.

~

The moon had long passed its zenith by the time the majority of Rangers keeled over from sheer exhaustion and lay sleeping where they fell.

Aragorn stumbled wearily back to the camp he shared with the two elves, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto a pile of blankets and sink into oblivion with his lover's arms around him. 

The man was stopped short by the sight of untouched bedding, and a clearing devoid of the presence of any other. His elf would not have left without telling him…Had bandits taken them then? Mirkwood was not called the shadowed forest without reason, and visions of pale wraiths plucking life from the dark dried his mouth with fear. A dozen other possibilities flashed through his mind, but were discarded almost immediately. All three horses were still grazing peacefully nearby - the elves had probably just gone for a walk.

__

At this time of the night? Worried, Aragorn feverishly tracked the double set of footprints into the forest, and sighed with relief when he caught sight of Niere and his elf sitting near the edge of a cliff.

He was just about to hail them when Niere tilted her head upwards, and Legolas leaned down to meet her lips in a passionate kiss. 

Aragorn watched in growing disbelief as his lover's hands began a trail of amorous caresses down her back. "No you don't," he heard the female elf say tauntingly, "what about your man?" 

"What about him?" the other elf asked.

"Well…"

"He's good," Legolas admitted, "but you're better."

Niere laughed, a rich, sultry sound. "I'm flattered," she said, "but then, I have had more practice."

"So have I." The male elf had unlaced her tunic and was working kisses down one bare shoulder. Aragorn heard Niere's breath quicken. 

"What will you tell him?" she asked when he let up. 

Legolas shrugged. "Nothing, " he said, "He loves me too blindly to question me."

"And what about you?"

"Now, now," he said, "you know that I will always love you best."

"As if," Niere replied, laughing.

"But I do," Legolas said, staring into her eyes, "No one understands me better than you do. I love you."

Aragorn bit his lip to keep from crying out at this exchange. He spun sharply on his heel and ran from their clandestine meeting, away from the hurt and betrayal that stabbed at his heart more viciously than any dagger ever could. How could he have been so stupid? The elf had never said those words to him, but after all they had been through, he had assumed…

Anger clouded his vision, and he changed his destination to the Rangers' larger encampment. In the arms of the willing women, he would drown his pain with lust, and burn the memory of the elf's embraces from his skin. 

~

Niere listened to the sound of rapidly fading footsteps and motioned Legolas off her. "He's gone," she said, tugging her apparel back on.

"I know," he replied.

"Do you think he believed us?"

"Yes."

Niere sighed, and shook her head. "What will you do now?" she asked.

"I'll leave." Legolas said.

"Immediately?" She frowned, "But won't he suspect something?" 

"I don't care," her cousin whispered harshly, "I cannot look him in the eye, and see only contempt where once there was…something more."

"Then why didn't you just explain the situation to him?" she asked, exasperated, "What we have done…it was cruel…it was _meant_ to be cruel."

Legolas stared off into the distance, and for a while she thought he would not answer.

"He wouldn't have gone," he said softly, "He might have understood, but he would have insisted on staying, on helping, when he can do nothing." He kicked absently at a small tuft of grass. "Besides," he continued, "we would have gone our separate ways eventually, why drag out a relationship which will result in nothing?"

Niere sighed. Her cousin sounded as if he were trying very hard to convince himself of the validity of his arguments. But he had made his choices, and he would have to live with them. All she had to offer now was company in his solitude, and a shoulder to cry on in his pain. 

* * *

© ai 2003

Don't stop reviewing now. 


	12. Chapter 12

****

Beautiful Stranger

__

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: well, that's the last proper chapter of the story. There's still the epilogue though, and the sequel this was written for…

Dedicated to all my reviewers, especially tsurugi-chan, zephyr, who've bugged me into continuing : ) , and morothewolfgod, who has supported me through every chapter. Thanks!!!

Standard disclaimers apply.

****

Chapter 12

Hael was waiting for him when Aragorn entered the clearing. The old Ranger did not acknowledge his murmured greeting, but when the man made to enter Esana's caravan, the ancient one held out his staff to block his way.

"Let me pass," Aragorn growled authoritatively. 

Hael remained silent.

"Let me pass," he repeated angrily.

"No." the Ranger spoke softly, but with unshakable conviction.

Aragorn ignored him, and simply circled around, seeking another way to the young woman's bed.

"You know why he's doing this." Hael called after him.

The other man stopped abruptly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he denied.

"Are you really that stupid? Or do you just act that way?" Hael demanded cynically, ignoring his petulant comment, "If you'd stop behaving like a spoilt brat without his toy for just a moment, perhaps it'd occur to you that there's so much more to this then meets the eye."

Aragorn stared at him, dumbfounded by his sudden outburst. 

Hael sighed and rolled his eyes. "Must I really spell it out to you?" he asked, exasperated, "Niere shows up out of nowhere, has never so much as mentioned a lover to you in all your time together in Rivendell, and then you just happen to discover the two of them together?"

Aragorn blinked. "I…" he stuttered, "How did you know…" 

"Because he told me," the other man answered simply, "and he asked me to help them. You were _meant_ to find them."

__

What?! The revelation stunned him into silence, but inside his head, something clicked, and suddenly it all made sense. There was only one mystery that remained unsolved. Aragorn turned back to Hael, and asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

Hael shrugged and motioned for Aragorn to walk with him. They strode slowly towards the outer perimeter of the campsite, into the relative privacy of the woods.

"I believe that he is wrong," Hael began, once they were out of sight, and earshot, of casual observers. "He thinks he's driving you away for your own good, but it's really because he would rather leave you before you do him…I just felt you have the right to know."

"I would never leave him!" Aragorn denied hotly, "I don't understand…"

"You would have had to go sometime, young one. And perhaps the real crux of the matter is that he does too," Hael said gently, "You both have things to do, separate roles to play to ensure that certain events may come to pass. He knows this, but at the same time, he's so afraid of losing you…"

Aragorn held out a hand to cut him off. His expression hardened, and he said, "His worries are pointless then - I'm not letting him go anywhere without me."

Hael looked at him sadly, and said, "Then you have proved me wrong after all, and I have made a terrible mistake by telling you the truth." He sighed. "Besides," he continued, "you cannot stop him."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Aragorn asked bitterly, "But I still have to try. What is the point of knowing everything if nothing can be changed?"

"My dear," Hael said, managing to be simultaneously incredulous and yet perfectly condescending, "the world does not revolve around you alone. It is for the sake my old and foolish friend that you are privy to this. If you really love him, then you know what you must do."

The elderly Ranger looked pointedly in the direction of their shared campsite. "Well?" he asked, after several moments had passed.

Aragorn glanced at the banked fire amidst the encompassing darkness, then back to Hael. "I do," he whispered - one answer to so many questions - and loped off into the distance.

The ancient one chuckled to himself. Had he ever been that young? "Ah, Legolas," he murmured to the empty night, "If you had just told me the truth then…"

~

Legolas slung his pack over the stallion's back, then leant against that warm flank. Silent tears ran in tiny rivulets through the coarse grey hair, though the elf shut his eyes to hold them back.

"What are you doing?" came an achingly familiar voice from the shadows.

The elf straightened abruptly, heart beating painfully in his chest. He wouldn't, couldn't, look at him now, but how he yearned to see that face just one more time…

His throat constricted with longing, and tension lined the lean body beneath drab travelling garb. "I…" he managed to choke out, back still to the man.

He felt the presence draw nearer, and suddenly, hands gripped his shoulders and forced him around. Legolas ducked his head downwards, staring at Aragorn's dust covered shoes. 

__

It isn't supposed to be like this, Legolas thought desperately, _he should hate me._

"Where are you going?" the man asked again, holding the elf ever so carefully within the circle of his arms.

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Anywhere, nowhere; what difference is there between one place and another if you are not present? "I thought…" Legolas began. But the words eluded him, and so he fell silent, steadfastly refusing to look at the man.

"You thought I would fall for it," Aragorn supplied, his tone turning harsh though his arms remained gentle. "I very nearly did," he admitted grudgingly, "Jealously is a most effective blindfold." He stared thoughtfully at his lover's stiff back, at that proud, unyielding stance. "Do you know," he murmured reverently, "that for all my lovers, and all my freedom, I had never known the bitter taste of jealously till I saw the two of you together…"

The man released an arm to run wondering fingers along the elf's jawbone, hand finally pausing on his pointed chin. "But it doesn't matter now," he purred, voice so deep it sent a thrill of pleasure down Legolas' spine, "you're still here, and so am I." In that instant, he tilted the elf's face upwards, and forced green eyes to meet brown as he devoured his mouth with a ravenous kiss.

Soft lips brushed against his own, and teeth ran delicately over his tongue. Legolas gasped, melting against the man, arching to be held more completely. When they broke apart, the elf knew that he would never love anyone like that again - and that he would have to leave the man this night or he would never bring himself to do it.

"Wait," he said as Aragorn lowered him gently to the ground.

"I know," the man told him quietly, unclasping the cloak-pin at his throat, "Hael told me everything. I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Then…you're not going to try to convince me to stay?"

Aragorn sighed and stroked the elf's golden hair. "I don't have a hope that it will work," he said wryly, "Besides…I guess if I love you enough to want to keep you with me, then I love you enough to let you go…"

At his words, Legolas relaxed and lay back down. "Goodbye then." He whispered, a sad smile hovering on his lips, before callused hands brought him to heights he had never known.

~

Legolas watched the even rise and fall of the man's chest for several moments before slipping carefully from his embrace.

"_Harthad _laeg galenas_ pathro ardhon, melethron,_" he whispered. "Carry my love for always Aragorn, King of Men."

He led the horse silently into the forest, where the trees parted for him, welcoming their Prince home. As the branches began to sweep back into place, the elf watched the slumbering man, and hoped that he would find happiness.

~

Aragorn wiped the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, and stared at the deserted clearing. For a brief heartbeat, he let the memory of emerald eyes fill his vision - then he shoved the pain, the loss, and the deep, deep love behind the walls of his consciousness, rose to his feet, and packed everything into the two remaining packs. Just before he set off, he placed Niere's belongings by her tethered horse. She could leave when she was ready.

The King of Man threw himself onto his mare and clucked his tongue, picking a path that wound out of Mirkwood. As the horse trod past the last stand of towering trees, he held his head high, his back straight and never looked back.

Behind him, a green leaf fluttered onto the snow.

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© ai 2003

sigh. Hope I have the time to write the epilogue soon…


	13. Epilogue

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Beautiful Stranger

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Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: sniff. This is it. so long then.

This is set just before and during the time when the Council of Elrond sat in Tolkien's 'The Fellowship of the Ring'. It's also a different interpretation of 'the tale of Aragorn and Arwen' in the appendix.

Standard disclaimers apply.

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Epilogue

Aragorn raised his head wearily as the first mallorn trees came into view. It had been two decades since he'd last entered the Golden Wood - two long, empty decades since he'd first held a beautiful stranger in his arms… With the ease of long practice, the man shoved _that_ particular memory back behind the walls where it belonged, and turned his mind away from the emptiness where once his heart had been.

Sometimes he thought that it had all been a dream, that the burning passion and whispered endearments had been mere figments of his imagination. But then he would wake up with the bittersweet taste of the elf on his lips, or shiver as the wind whipped round him in a familiar caress, and everything would come flooding back…

Aragorn bit his lip, and stared resolutely at the ethereal elf coming to meet him. But though Galadriel appeared physically unchanged, there was no recognition in her voice when she greeted him, and only a distant welcome in her eyes.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," she intoned, as she had so many years ago, "You have come to your destiny at last…"

For a moment, his heart leapt in his chest, could it be? After all these years of searching…

"…you have finally come to your Queen," she finished.

Bitter disappointment welled up in his throat. Of course. Arwen was here. Long ago, in another life, he had glimpsed his future within a metal basin and Galadriel had told him then that it could never be. It was foolish really, to carry this futile hope for so long; he should really start getting on with life.

The Lady clapped softly, and two elves came forward. One gently lifted the worn travelling cloak from his shoulders, while the other replaced it with a silver cloak of Elven-make, and put a sparkling gem on his brow. When they had wiped his hands and face with water, Galadriel nodded her approval. "Follow me," she told him.

Aragorn obediently walked with her under the trees of Caras Galadhon, to where the Star of the Elves awaited her doom.

At the sound of their approach, Arwen turned, and Aragorn felt his stomach lurch. He had forgotten how beautiful she was, how her dark hair fell in voluminous waves down her back, so unlike the silken sheet of gold that had once surrounded man and elf…No. Not now. He had loved Arwen once, he was sure of it, and he could love her again. It would never be the same of course, but it would have to be enough.

Aragorn felt rather than saw her appreciation for the man he had become, and he smiled his unspoken thanks. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, and murmured, "My lady."

~

Legolas rubbed his eyes, blinking repeatedly at the map in front of him, which had somehow morphed into an incomprehensible mess of lines. "I give it a week before we lose the south border completely," he told King Thranduil tiredly, "It's only been two days since that wretched Gollum disappeared, and now this."

"I know, my son," Thranduil replied, equally drained, "But I'm afraid we no longer have the resources to keep pushing Mordor back. We will have to retreat again." The elf king furrowed his brow in frustration. "We cannot keep moving deeper into the forest forever. There must be something we can do…" he muttered angrily.

Legolas sighed. "There is," he said, "We can inform the rest of Middle Earth that Sauron has returned."

Thranduil looked stricken, then resigned. "Yes," he said softly, "I suppose it is our duty…And we must tell Elrond that Gollum has fled." Raising his head to gaze at his weary son, he seemed to come to a conclusion. "You will go to Rivendell," he told Legolas, "Elrond probably has his suspicions by now, but it would still be useful to have them confirmed."

"But I can't go," Legolas cried in shock, "I have to be here to oversee the army…"

The elf king shook his head. "We can manage well enough without you," he said firmly, "But so few of us have ventured from these woods in recent years; you have the best chance of getting to Elrond." He forced his son to meet his eyes, and said, "Besides, I believe in you."

Legolas bowed his head. "Yes father," he whispered, trying desperately not to think of one man's eyes and one man's touch - and how incomplete he was without it.

~

Dragging his legs through the suddenly shallow stream, Aragorn stumbled, and would have fallen if careful hands had not held him up. "Father…" he began, staring at the ageless face, "I mean…Lord Elrond…"

"Shh," Elrond said as he hefted the man into his arms, "You will always be my son. Now be quiet and rest. The little folk are safe; the Ring is safe."

"Mordor…" Aragorn clasped the elf's shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip, and said insistently, "Sauron has risen again…"

"I know," Elrond told him calmly, "Rest now. We will speak more of this anon." 

Too exhausted to argue, the man let his consciousness melt away, and surrendered to the peace of Rivendell.

~

Legolas galloped through the gates of Rivendell and slid off his horse. "Lord Elrond!" he called desperately, hoping that the guards on duty had already announced his arrival, and that he wouldn't be shot on sight, "I bring pressing news from _Eryn Lagaslen_."

Clutching his missive fiercely in one hand, the elf ran the few steps required to bring him before the Lord of Rivendell, who stood beneath the towering arch. 

"Lord Elrond…" he managed to get out before the other bade him pause.

"We have heard of the evils in the Shadowed Woods," Elrond said, "But there is a matter of utmost importance to be dealt with first, and now that you are here, the Council is complete."

"I don't understand…"

"You will," Elrond told the startled elf, "quickly now…"

~

The man slipped between two large boulders, and settled himself deeply in the shadows. Though he could not command a complete view of the Council from his corner, he judged it fair trade in order to remain unobserved. Gondor would be here today, and though he had renounced his throne, his heritage demanded that he was responsible for the welfare of 'his' people.

He watched dispassionately as Elrond entered with the two halflings, and gestured to the assembly before him.

"This is Gloin, whom you already know, and his son, Gimli, " Elrond was saying to Frodo, who stood timidly by his side, "Erestor, chief of my counsellors," - he nodded to the stately group of elves - "Galdor, of the Grey Havens, and this…" - Elrond gestured to a figure beyond the range of Aragorn's vision - "This is Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood."

Aragorn bolted upright. A whisper from the shadow of a memory…_Laeg galenas_…green leaf… There was something about that name, something desperately important that lingered just out of reach… He leaned forward, seeking a glimpse of this stranger elf. Perhaps if he saw him…

But then a figure clad in rich clothing cleared his throat impatiently, and Aragorn turned to watch the man he had come here to see. Elrond smiled politely and moved Frodo in his direction. "Here," he said, "is Boromir, a man from the White City of Gondor."

With the introductions complete, Elrond addressed those gathered once again and spread his arms. "Here then, listen and take heed," he cried in a clear, ringing voice, "for this is the reason you have come…" And he spoke of Sauron and the One Ring, to those who listened in grave silence before him.

When he had finished speaking, Boromir stood, tall and proud, and told them in turn of Gondor and her wars and the Ring which had brought her so much pain. Aragorn listened to the ebb and flow of his words, and felt his heart contract with grief for his city. So when Boromir spoke of _Narsil_ and Isildur's Bane, Aragorn could contain himself no longer.

Standing abruptly, he cast his sword upon the table that stood before Elrond, and the blade was in two pieces. "Here is the Sword that was Broken!" he cried.

"And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" asked Boromir, looking askance at the Ranger and his weather-stained cloak.

Aragorn paused, suddenly lost for words. He hadn't meant to call attention to himself, and now there was nothing he could say. Cursing his foolish outburst, the man looked desperately to Elrond.

Then a quiet voice sounded in the strained silence, and Aragorn felt the blood drain from his face. It was soft, yes, but unmistakable. Overlaid with new weariness, but in essence, still the same. He turned, not daring to let rising hope spill into the emptiness…

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur," the beautiful stranger said. Legolas turned emerald eyes filled with bittersweet joy to meet his own haunted gaze. "And you owe him your allegiance." 

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~ the end ~

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© ai 2003

now read the sequel **'Silent words, Comfort me'** and do review!

Thanks everyone!


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